Page 187 of Reckless

She huffs out a laugh that turns into a groan when I finally line myself up and drive into her in one hard stroke that has her slapping a palm flat against the tile to brace herself. “Fuck,” she chokes out.

“That’s my girl.”

There’s nothing careful about this anymore. I know her now. Know the subtle tells she doesn’t even realize she’s giving me, the tiny shifts in her breathing, the way her body answers mine long before either of us says a word. I know the exact rhythm that has her nails scraping down the tile, and I know the sound she makes right before she stops trying to hold back. I fist a hand in her wet hair, hard, just enough to tip her head back against my shoulder so I can watch her face in the fogged mirror across from us. And the sight of her like that, wrecked and still fighting to hold onto her attitude, has me driving into her harder, faster, water slicking between us with every thrust.

“Still got something smart to say?” I growl against her ear.

“Give me a minute,” she pants. “I’m workshopping it.”

“Take your time.”

“I hate you.”

“You really don’t.”

She laughs, the sound breaking apart into something else entirely as I keep the pace relentless, one hand braced on the tile beside her head, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave a mark I already know she won’t complain about tomorrow. She reaches back, fingers digging into my thigh, urging me deeper.

“I’m close.” She gasps. “Don’t you dare stop now. I will end you!”

“Bold threat for someone who can’t stand up straight.”

“Ghost.”

“Hold on, baby.” I slide my hand around, finding her clit again, matching the circle of my fingers to the drive of my hips, and her entire body goes tight against me. “Let go.”

“Ghost—”

“I’ve got you. Let go.”

She does. Her back arches, a cry tearing loose from her that bounces off the tile, her entire body pulling taut against mine like a wire drawn to its limit. I don’t ease up, keeping my fingers moving against her, driving into her through it, drawing it out until she’s shaking, until her knees actually buckle, and the only thing holding her upright is my arm hooked hard across her stomach.

“Fuck, Ghost, I can’t—”

“Yeah, you can.”

She clenches around me again, tighter this time, a second wave crashing into the first before she’s even come down from it, and the sound she makes is ruined, nothing left of the sass from ten minutes ago. That’s what finally breaks me. The feel of her falling apart around me twice over, her nails cutting into my thigh where she’s holding on, her breath ripped out of her in short, desperate pulls.

It suddenly hits me—that loss of control I don’t allow myself anywhere else in my life. No calculation left in it, no part of me tracking the room, the exits, or the next three moves. Just her, tight and shaking around me, and the sound of my name broken apart in her mouth a second ago.

My balls pull up, my legs beginning to shake as lights dance behind my eyes. I bury myself deep and follow her over, a rough groan tearing out of my chest that I don’t bother holding back. “Fuck, Sage!” My forehead drops to rest against her shoulder while I unload into her, my hips still moving in slow, uneven pulses like I can’t quite make myself stop. It rolls through me in waves, each one wringing another rough sound out of me I wouldn’t let anyone else on earth hear, my entire body locked tight around her as if letting go of her right now isn’t an option my brain is willing to consider.

For a long moment, neither of us do anything except breathe.

My pulse is still slamming when the water starts registering as cold against my back instead of hot, my arm banded so tight around her waist I have to consciously ease it before I leave a mark that isn’t from my hands. I press my mouth to her shoulder, tasting water and salt, and stay there a second, feeling her heart hammering as hard as mine against my forearm where it’s pressed flat over her chest.

I don’t have a word for what’s sitting in my chest right now.

I’ve never needed one before her.

She’s shaking. I can feel it everywhere our skin touches, small aftershocks running through her that she doesn’t try to hide. I hold her through it, one hand still splayed flat over her stomach, the other braced against the tile to keep both of us upright, because I’m not entirely convinced my legs are done negotiating with the rest of me either.

“Okay,” she finally manages, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “That was…”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t even have a smart comment. That’s how you know how fucking epic that shit was.”

I huff a laugh against her shoulder, still catching my own breath. “I’m blaming you for that.”